


The level of life.

by uncontrollablyyours



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is Batman, Character Study, Gen, Introspection, Soliloquy, batman my beloved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 07:54:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29996253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uncontrollablyyours/pseuds/uncontrollablyyours
Summary: It is not easy to comfort yourself when death is kneeled down in front of you. Stooped to your level. The level of life.





	The level of life.

**Author's Note:**

> There is something magical about the mythos that surrounds Batman and Gotham; I don't think I'll tire from it for a while. Really enjoying writing introspective, character focused pieces. Hope you enjoy!

Shadow of the dark. Creature of the night. Demon of vengeance. Crusader of lost souls. The look behind your shoulder. The cold sweat on the back of your neck. The looming hesitation before the crime. Eyes hidden behind white slits, all the while allowing the predatory gaze to pierce through your skin.

You try to run. You try to step away. You try to let words out of your throat. But at this point, sadly, dumbly, you know that all you can do is pray. Pray to the God you have stopped believing in years ago. Pray to the universe which has long forsaken you. Pray to your mother and father, to the people you’ve killed, you’ve hurt, you’ve stolen from. Pray to the nomads and the nymphs. Pray that this creature has mercy in his bones, that he will spend some on you. Being a criminal is much like an empty gun. When all shots have been fired, the only remaining sound is the meaningless clicks from the void of your soul. Click. Click. Click. It’s your heart, hammering in your chest, begging for one more shot at a life you know you can never have.

He’s getting closer. His cape is flowing behind him, like a god. You think of the man in blue in Metropolis. The beautiful wonder woman in Washington. You would give anything if it could be any of them right now. If it could be anyone. Even the police. Even the mob bosses who have been tailing your ass. Nothing comes close to the fear in your spine when he towers above you, your back pressed to the wall, your knees hugged to your chest. Your chin trembles at the sight. He looks down at you. His mouth curled in a permanent scowl. His face shrouded with darkness. From up here, you can barely glimpse the terror of the Bat—he is only a figure in the dark. Your neck aches from looking up at him. Despite the horror, despite the fear, _you cannot look away._

Your throat feels like it’s shut down when he finally kneels down, painfully slow, as if relishing every hitching gasp in your throat. You try to move further away. You try to grow a distance. The wall behind you says otherwise. It’s a futile attempt, and you know it. (He knows it.)

Stubbornly, childishly, you refuse to look. You close your eyes. You can feel the heat in your eyes as you keep them tightly shut. The warmth is getting stronger. Tears are starting to form. You want to cry but you can’t. You don’t want to move an inch. You don’t even want to breathe. You don’t even want to live. Any form of escape is better than this. Images start swirling in your head. It’s not hard to remember now that your eyes are closed. It’s not hard to be reminded of the souls you’ve destroyed, the people you’ve punished, the children you’ve orphaned. It’s not hard to be reminded of the sin present in your every word and deed, unescapable, undefeatable. You deserve this. You deserve more. This is what you made them feel when they were begging for their lives. When their backs were pressed at the wall behind them. When they wanted to cry but they couldn’t. You stripped them of their dignity, their honor. Crouched here now, feeling as if your soul is detached from your body, you realize you took away things you yourself lost a long time ago.

What’s so scary about The Batman is that he is wrapped in myth. He is grounded on superstition and rumor. There are stories of what he’s done and what he can do. And with the amount of stories that surround this being—one would think there’d be something to expect. No. The horror is that there is still none. You _still_ don’t know what he’ll do. You _still_ don’t know if he’ll kill you. You don’t know if it will be a painfully slow death. You don’t know if it will be a quick stab in the chest. You don’t know. You can only pray. You can only wait. You can only close your eyes and make false promises in your head. You can be better. You can try. You are not hopeless.

It is not easy to comfort yourself when death is kneeled down in front of you. Stooped to your level. The level of life.

And then it comes. His hand lands on your shoulder. You flinch, but there is no pain. You try to search for the hit, the blow. Your body is shaking. His hand is on your shoulder. You’re panicking. Stop trembling. Think about it. For once, really, truly _think_. His hand is on your shoulder. It is a cold, gloved touch. And oddly, there is something comforting about it. This must be the peace before death. This must be a final farewell from the heavens, before you are thrown to the pits of hell.

His voice is chilling.

“You need to stop doing this.”

There is an unfamiliar kindness laced in his words. There is concern leaking from his voice. When have you last heard this? When was the last time someone made you feel like this? Like there is... something more to this life. The feeling is a distant memory, a bittersweet taste lingering in your mouth.

Your eyes fly open. This is impossible. The Batman is looking at you. You can feel his gaze behind the white slits of his eyes. It is not the gaze of a demon from a myth. It is not the terror from a knowing predator. Shockingly, almost suspiciously, it is that of a man.

He helps you up while you stand with trembling knees. He doesn’t smile, he doesn’t comfort you with words. He doesn’t tell you a lie. Not like most people do. The truth remains. You are not sinless. You are not brave. There will be consequences. There will be repercussions. And the system that will judge you—it isn’t perfect. It isn’t always fair. In a world of sin, cowardice, consequence, repercussion… what does he give you? What can he give you?

Shadow of the dark. Creature of the night. He gives you hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Every now and then, some shitty takes on twitter question what Bruce Wayne should do about Gotham City. The fact that this argument still seems revolutionary for some people in 2021 is so, so, so weird to me. Why don't you spend your energy on real people...?
> 
> Anyway, despite all that, i always love it when Batman's role in Gotham is reiterated as a symbol of hope. It's more than just the fear he strikes in criminals and the discipline that foregoes that. Always, always, Batman represents hope.


End file.
